


Party Night

by seamscribe



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamscribe/pseuds/seamscribe
Summary: 'He'd know those legs anywhere.' Updated! I fixed the formatting and added more content.If you'd like to read more in this universe, please comment or kudos! :)





	

 

 

 

Party Night

 

 

 

Jaime had no idea what in the seven hells had compelled him to come here. No, he did--it was stupid nostalgia, because life had changed so much in the months since he transferred schools, from the public Lannisport High to the private Casterly Rock Academy, that it felt like visiting another life--a better one, for all his petty complaints. One before his sister betrayed him and his father decided it was time for Jaime to get a ‘proper’ education. So far, the main difference was that everyone at Casterly sucked up to him endlessly and was unimaginably boring, at least twice as boring as his old schoolmates, who he could at least pick fights with.

 

But all anyone wanted to talk about when they saw him walk into the party was his sister and her trip to rehab, which was supposed to be a secret but no Lannister secret could go uncovered for long. Except his, hopefully.

 

If his sweet sister and her drinking problem hadn’t imploded like a fucking dying star, he wouldn’t be stuck at Casterly, surrounded by rich assholes. He’d be at LHS, surrounded by regular assholes and a few people who didn’t drive him crazy. But even they only really wanted to hear gossip, whether it was about his family or about the girls at Casterly and the tightness of their butts. Did the guys seem to look at each other’s dicks in the locker room more often or less often? Were the guys into manscaping? Jaime didn’t know why Addam needed this information, nor could he provide it.

 

Now everyone seemed to be breaking off into couples and making out in dark corners. For fucks sake. Why in the seven hells had he come here?

 

He wandered up the stairs of what he thought was the Greyjoy house and avoided what he thought was Theon Greyjoy’s room. Asha’s was probably equally scary, but at least she wasn’t as likely to come crashing in screaming with her dick out.

 

He was wrong on the room--he started to back out quickly when he saw that the room was occupied, before he saw some unfortunate coupling. They even had the lights on!

 

Then he noticed that there was only one set of legs and they were ridiculously long and fit. He’d know those legs anywhere.

 

He took a step into the room to see and her name slipped from his lips without thought.

 

“Brienne.”

 

She leaned forward and squinted her stupidly blue eyes. She wrinkled her nose. It looked terrible when she did that. “ _Jaime_?”

 

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He wondered if this was why he had really come here.

 

Brienne Tarth. His arch nemesis in the ninth grade. She had just moved from Tarth and she drove Jaime crazy, being all stoic and self-righteous and serious all the time. Her looks--her height and her puffy lips and big teeth and freckles and crooked nose--made her easy to tease. Well, torment, really. And he was definitely not the only one.

 

After three months of hells, she had suddenly turned to him one day and spoken. That was unusual enough--the stupid girl was practically mute, although he supposed there didn’t seem much point in speaking when you already knew you’d be mocked for whatever you said.

 

He couldn’t even remember now what he had said that day, but she turned to him and said, in a completely steady voice, “I’m really sick of hearing your mouth, Lannister. Why don’t you shut it before I shut it for you.”

 

Jaime had been so taken aback by how serious she was that he had only been able to say, “The fuck you will, Tarth!”

 

“Yeah?” She had crossed her arms over her chest and he had felt a moment of misgiving. She probably worked out. What the hells? He didn’t know any girls who worked out. And was he really going to fight a _girl_? “So you’ll meet me at the tennis courts at 3:30, right?” she had demanded coldly.

 

There was a deafening chorus of ‘ooooooooooooohs’ from all around the classroom, so yes, he would fight this silly, strange girl who was suddenly so keen on humiliation.

 

He did not win the fight. It was fairly dirty, in a figurative and literal sense, as it had involved a lot of rolling around on the ground. He still thought he might have won when he had her pinned, but he had taken the ripe opportunity to fuck with her instead, pressing her into the ground and murmuring, “Are you sure you didn’t just want me on top of you, Tarth?”

 

Maybe she had been biding her time, maybe he had pissed her off, but she kneed him in the balls, grabbed a handful of his hair, and managed to flip them. In the end, she had him pinned face-down with one knee holding his hand behind his back and the other digging into his shoulder while she pulled his arm back. He had finally yelled, “I give,” once he was fairly certain that she was willing to dislocate his shoulder to make her point. It hurt for weeks.

 

“Hi, Brienne.”

 

“What are you doing slumming it with us public school peons?” she asked, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. He moved further into the room and saw that she was watching TV and far more importantly, she was wearing a _skirt_. He looked over her legs--probably for longer than was appropriate--and started to open his mouth. She held up a hand and said, “Not a word.”

 

“Well, it looks nice. In that it’s very short.”

 

She didn’t blush and giggle and smooth her skirt down, she just picked at it with a frown and said, “It’s not supposed to be this short, but you know. Too Tall Tarth and all that. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Don’t you have a champagne and BMW party to get to or something?”           

 

“You love my BMW, wench! Every inch of it’s heated seats. Anyway, are you telling me to leave or something?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

She tilted her head and gave him one of her inscrutable looks. “It’s a free country, Jaime.” Then she added, “And don’t call me ‘wench’! I rue the day I said I thought renaissance festivals were fun.”

 

“But they _are_ fun, and I keep that fun alive for us.” It wasn’t really the warm welcome he had apparently expected, but he would take it. “Well, move over then,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

 

She narrowed her eyes. After a moment, she sighed and said, “Only because it’s a queen. If it was a twin, I’d make you sit on the floor.”

 

“Then I’ll have to thank Asha,” he replied, settling onto the bed next to her on the enormous bank of pillows that all had the creepy Greyjoy squid thing stitched on them. “What are you watching?”

 

“Die Hard With A Vengeance.” She smiled. “It’s edited for TV!” She knew his weakness for poorly-dubbed censoring.

 

“Excellent.”

 

Kicking Jaime Lannister’s ass was enough to earn Brienne a grudging form of respect from most of their classmates, and the girls loved her because she never tried to steal their boyfriends and she could beat up creepy guys who wouldn’t leave them alone. In fact, if he had to bet, the only reason she was here was because of her best friend.

 

“Where’s Sansa?”

 

She gave him a wry smile and said, “In the other room with Jon Snow. I’m supposed to be protecting her from Bolton, but Jon is perfectly trustworthy. Whatever they’re doing, I’m giving her until the end of the movie.”

 

“Yeah, right. You’d move in before you’d leave her here on her own.”

 

She didn’t try to deny it. “True,” she sighed.

 

“Was she also the one who talked you into wearing a skirt?”

 

“Yes,” she grumbled.

 

“I’ll have to thank Sansa too, then.”

 

She shoved him hard enough that he almost fell off the bed. A blush started to move over her face. “Don’t make fun of me. Absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder, Lannister.”

 

“Wench! Didn’t you miss me?” He hesitated for a moment and said, “I missed you.”

 

Brienne laughed and said, “Why? All I do is push you and call you an idiot.”

 

“That’s not true,” Jaime said, shaking his head. It was suddenly very important that she understand how much he just realized he missed her. “You’re my best friend, you know.”

 

She turned to him and said, “Come closer, Jaime.” He scooted closer on the bed and she leaned in, alarmingly close, close enough that he could smell the soda on her tongue and see her eyelashes, fanned out and stiff with black mascara, undoubtedly Sansa’s doing as well. He hadn’t been this close to her stunning eyes in too long. She tilted her head and breathed him in. She smelled like clean laundry and lemongrass, like she always did.

 

Jaime closed his eyes for a second and then found his head smacking the pillow and his eyes on the ceiling.

 

“Well,” Brienne said, settling back again. “You’re not drunk, so you must be joking.”

 

“What? We spend all our time together, don’t we?”

 

“ _Did_ , maybe. I haven’t seen you in, like, two months.” She didn’t look very bothered, but she was good at hiding her feelings. Maybe even from him.

 

“Six weeks,” he corrected her quietly. “I switched schools,” he said defensively.

 

“You didn’t move. Neither did I,” she said impassively.

 

“What have I missed?”

 

“Well, they made Hyle the captain for boys volleyball since you’re not there. Made a huge deal about it, of course. Thinks he’s the Gods’ gift to the sport.”

 

“And you’re still undefeated, of course.” The LHS Wildcats had won every girl’s volleyball game since Brienne became captain. She had a full-ride scholarship to the King’s Landing branch of the University of Westeros. “I saw you play Pike a few weeks ago,” he said. “You were amazing.”

 

She kept her eyes on the TV and said, ”Why didn’t you say hello, if you missed me so damn much?”

 

“I…” He decided to tell the truth--that he had gone with Tormund and that the giant ginger was way too keen to meet Brienne. “I went with one of my new _pals_ from Casterly and I didn’t want him talking to you. I don’t...approve of him. As a _suitor_.”

 

She snorted and said, “Gee, Mr. Bennett, thanks for keeping my prospects in mind.” She shoved him again with a grin. “You know, if I want a guy to leave me alone, I’ll just tell him I’ll kick his ass--just like I did to that Jaime Lannister.”

 

“Well, what if you liked him! What if he stole my best friend away and made you his _girlfriend_?”

 

“Ha! The day I'm anyone’s girlfriend will be a cold day in all Seven Hells,” she scoffed.

 

“Still a virgin, then?”

 

This time, he landed on the floor, which was much harder than a pile of pillows.

 

He climbed back on the bed, feeling better than he had in weeks. He should have just been putting all this angsty energy into bugging her, it had always worked in the past. Life really had been boring without her, even as it was fraught with tension at his house.

 

The last time he had seen Brienne before tonight, six weeks before, he had woken up in her basement, all cozied up to a bean bag chair. It wasn’t the first time he had fallen asleep there, but Brienne usually went to her room, lest her scary ass father have any reason to meander into the basement. This time, she had fallen asleep on the couch and not woken up--they had stayed up all night watching sci fi movies and playing ping pong.

 

She was all stretched out and splayed on the couch in a distinctly unprovocative manner, burrowed into the couch cushions. He had watched her sleep for an overly long time and then poked her in the side so that she jumped and fell off the couch with a squeak.

 

“Seven Hells, Lannister,” she had grumbled, climbing back on, all long, awkward limbs dappled with sunlight and freckles. Her shorts were disconcertingly short. Even though Cersei was close all the time since being grounded at the start of the summer, he had found himself dreaming much more often about the gawky and guileless girl who had become his best friend somehow in the past two or so years, since she ground his face into the dirt freshman year.

 

All the joking, from him and other students alike, died down or took on a good-natured tone. Whether she liked it or not, she was an LHS legend, at least for four years. That obviously should have put Jaime off messing with her, but as she would come to learn, Jaime always chose the interesting option over the sensible one.

 

Brienne didn't make it easy to get to know her. When he had pointed this out once, she had replied, "Who says I want you to know me?" And she was  _not_ flirting. In fact, she sounded downright horrified by the idea. There interactions the rest of the semester had usually ended with her glaring, blushing, and walking away angrily. Jaime was sometimes left scratching his head and thinking, _Was that sexual tension? Or does she just hate me?  
_

 

Then they were paired together for multiple projects. Every time, Brienne had groaned, dropped her head, and mumbled into her desk that the world was against her. But they made a good team, when Jaime cared about the topic. And when he didn't, he used the time to pry into her head and figure out how to make her laugh. She had to have done it at some point in her life, right?

 

Then it turned out that the dumb girl with the stupid accent was actually pretty smart and kind of funny when she decided to open her mouth. And once she did, she tended to go on and on, which was fine with Jaime for the most part because they also turned out to have a lot of things in common--like dead mothers. Mother’s Day of freshman year, she had sent Jaime an article she had found in some ancient microfiche at the library. It was interview in the society pages with his mother, Joanna Lannister. She talked about how much she loved her children, her twins that looked like little angels. He hated Brienne for a moment before he started to cry, the first time he had cried for his mother in years.

 

And even when she went on about something he didn’t care about, her rambling was a little charming. She _cared_ about things so deeply. It was fascinating to see her stoic, detached exterior slip, especially knowing he could probably count the number of people who got to see that on one hand: Margery, who was a terrible influence, Sansa, who was like her baby sister, him, her father--and Catelyn Stark, who was something like her mentor, although Brienne often made her sound more like her fairy godmother.

 

She had met Catelyn working at some soup kitchen because she was such a bleeding heart and Mrs. Stark had taken a strong liking to Brienne, even before they had realized that she went to school with Sansa. It was probably because they were both so damn upright. Uppity, he would have said at the time. It had been what drove him crazy and later fascinated him about her at first, the way she could seem both mortified by her own existence and completely confident that she was better than everyone else. Which she kind of was, but he didn't know that at the time.

 

All the other Starks--all, what, twenty-five of them--took a liking as well. She had essentially gained four brothers. The Starks seemed to value good manners and rigid morality. (Except Sansa Stark's nightmare of a sister, who adored Brienne, of course, because she aspired to beat up many boys herself.) Even Catelyn Stark’s brother, a somewhat famous businessman called The Blackfish in the papers. 

 

Brienne would spend weekend’s at the Starks’ apartment in Kings' Landing or at their country estate. The Blackfish and Ned Stark would go riding and hunting with her or Catelyn Stark would take her and Sansa to the theater. He had noticed a palpable longing for the end of the day when he tried to talk to her on Fridays. Volleyball and weekends with the damned Starks--her lifeblood.

 

Jaime had known all summer that he wanted her, but he was still trying to sort out how to bring it up without her punching him. Taking a guy’s interest at face value had backfired very hard in the past for her, so she would likely not even believe him and he would be faced with the arduous task of convincing her that he had spent the last more months than he wanted to think about fantasizing about her absurd lips and the husky way she said his name when she needed to say something serious. The top of her thighs and her hard nipples in her bathing suit when she was setting records for the swim team--she claimed winning was the only thing worth wearing a bathing suit in public. The wide expanse of her shoulders that was smooth and pale as cream under her freckles. And, of course, her eyes.

 

And he needed to do it before school started. Brienne was very different at school--she wasn’t nearly as shy as she had been when he met her, but she was quiet and remote and wanted nothing more than to go unnoticed. She held back every _Brienne_ thing about herself. Once the summer was over, it might be too late.

 

“I have to go to brunch,” he had said, opening the basement door that led to her backyard, fingers crossed that he wouldn’t have a run-in with Mr. Tarth. He had caught Jaime undeniably sneaking out of the basement in the wee hours, but he seemed willfully blind on the matter. After all, he had never had to deal with the possibility of Brienne sneaking around with a boy.

 

He went to brunch and Cersei was drunk, so drunk that she threw up on the table at the country club and had a meltdown and was sent away to rehab by their ever-harassed father. Only a few hours later, he decided it was also best if he get Jaime away from ‘riff-raff’ by sending him to Casterly Academy, just three weeks before the start of his senior year. He had sent Brienne a single message that just said, “Sister going away”.

 

Time flew and he didn’t hear from her, although he knew all the gossip must have reached her quickly through Margery. If he hadn’t been so far in his own head, he would have realized that it was stupid to expect Brienne to reach out first if she thought she might be rejected. Maybe she thought he and Cersei were getting ‘close’ again now that she was working through her feelings or whatever it was.

 

Brienne had caught them on the verge of fucking in the girls locker room late after school one day. It was only a few weeks after that year’s Mother’s Day, sophomore year. It had been a stupid risk but they had been fighting and it drove him crazy in the worst way when Cersei gave him that cold, challenging look that had been appearing more and more.

 

Cersei had wanted him to ‘ _do something_ ’, but he didn’t know what to do but plead with Brienne not to tell anyone. He didn’t bother asking her not to hate him, she must have been disgusted, but she had said, “Jaime, I would never do that to you.” _To you_ . Not just ‘I wouldn’t do that’. Not to _him_ , like he deserved her loyalty, or anything from her. He hadn’t needed any more  reassurance: she would keep her word. To know Brienne was to know honor.

 

Not only did she not condemn him, she even tried to understand and give him advice when he would lament to the only person he could that his other half was pulling away faster than he could understand, despite the fact that Brienne knew nothing about relationships and that he was _fucking his sister_ . She had even once told him that he was _too good for Cersei_. It was the most impassioned he had ever seen her when she wasn’t punching him.

 

“She expects you to be at her beck and call and never look at another girl, while she never spares a thought for your feelings. You give her your devotion, and she doesn’t deserve it,” she had said, flushing and looking away from him. “She doesn’t deserve you.” And he had laughed helplessly, hysterically, until she had huffed and stormed out.

 

“Why are you here, Jaime?” Brienne asked, not rudely, just waiting for him to confess, as he was wont to do.

 

“Cersei has a new boyfriend,” he blurted out.

 

“Oh,” she sighed.

 

“That she met in rehab! Who does that?”

 

“A lot of people, even though they tell you not to.”

 

“How would you know?”

 

“Do you know how many people at the homeless shelter are just out of rehab?”

 

“Oh…”

 

“Yeah,it’s really--” He _had_ to cut her off before she went on a tangent about rehab--although it was finally relevant to his life, at least.

 

When he had gone to see his sister, he had started to realize that maybe it was better if Brienne stayed away from him. Look at his taste in women. Not only was Cersei his sister, but she was--well, Cersei. In three weeks, he went from trying to figure out how he was gonna get with Brienne to being convinced that she should never come near him again. It was _better_ that he be stuck at Casterly Rock instead of by her side, no matter what he wanted. His want was a treacherous thing.

 

“Jaime.” His name again, in that rich, vivid whisper. She met his eyes for a moment before she looked away. “You could have called me,” she said, looking down at her hands in her lap.

 

“I don’t want to--look,” he said, watching her face. He was losing her. She would finish the sentence in her head: _I don’t want_ you. “I’m fucked up. My family is fucked up. I don’t wanna drag you into that.”

 

She punched his arm with a glare. “Let _me_ decide where I want to be dragged, okay?” The gentleness of her voice was at odds with the ache of his shoulder.

 

“Please yourself, Brienne,” Jaime said, in an attempt to be chivalrous.

 

“I’m--pleased,” she assured him, with a slight blush and small smile that grew suddenly. “And--I missed you, too,” she admitted, ducking her head. “You’re much funnier than Hunt,” she added.

 

“So you finally admit I’m hilarious.”

 

“Well, you’re funnier than Hunt,” she stressed. She sat back again and they watched the movie, but only five minutes passed before Brienne began rubbing her legs together. Her _thighs_ , in fact. Surely, she hadn’t always done that. He had many things to thank Sansa Stark for.

 

“Are you trying to seduce me, wench?”

 

Brienne flushed and frowned. Of course she had no idea.

 

“Rubbing your legs together like that in that short skirt! A man might get the wrong idea.” _Or the right one_.

 

She turned even redder and shoved the skirt down her legs again, a totally futile effort. “My hamstrings are tight,” she said, with great dignity. She got off the bed and moved her feet to shoulder-width and Jaime had done enough stretching with her to know that she was about to do a forward bend, a great stretch for the hamstrings and a great torment to Jaime.

 

“Margery still making you do yoga?” His voice was annoyingly reedy. She reached the floor with ease and although she had taken care to face the bed, he could easily imagine the skirt sliding up, and it was so short that it was surely brushing her ass, baring her undoubtedly sensible and full-coverage underwear, probably baby blue, why did he think about these things, for fuck’s sake.

 

Then she changed angles and brought her hands back and the skirt flipped up and he could swear he saw the top of her ass, milky skin and all, shaped like the perfect curves at the top of a heart, because she was _not_ wearing sensible cotton underpants, she was wearing a _thong_.

 

He knew she wore one for volleyball sometimes, as the shorts were absurdly tight and short and it _was_ rather distracting and silly-looking when her underwear with the chipper seahorses edged out when she lunged. Even the silent threat of getting their asses kicked hadn’t stopped the whole boy’s team from singing ‘Under the Sea’ every time they saw her for a week. Brienne had complained that it was incredibly difficult to find a sporty thong, and that it ‘went up your fucking ass anyway’, and she had probably said something else as well, but Jaime had already started envisioning said thongs going up her fucking ass, in a sexier way than she had probably meant.

 

“What the hells are you wearing, wench?” he squeaked.

 

“What? You already laughed at me for wearing a skirt. And have you forgotten my name completely? It’s--”

 

“Brienne, I know, and do you happen to feel a draft back there, wench? I can see your underwear, you know.”

 

Brienne gasped in horror and immediately stood up, shoving the skirt down again.

 

“Did Sansa pick that as well? And with that skirt? I’m not sure if I want her to dress you everyday or never dress you again,” Jaime said, and his voice was surprisingly steady for how much blood was rushing away from his head. Brienne would probably knock him out if he reached down and squeezed his cock, just a little, wouldn’t she?

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, hiding her face in her hands and shaking her head.

 

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” he chuckled.

 

“It was laundry day,” she moaned.

 

“It was my _lucky_ day.”

 

She looked at him then, but only to glare. “Shut up,” she grumbled. “Well, I need to do my quads now,” she said defiantly, in spite of her red face. She reached back and grabbed her leg and leaned forward until the sole of her tennis shoe appeared next to her head.

 

Jaime groaned so loudly that Brienne looked a little concerned. “What?”

 

“I love hip openers,” he said breathlessly. “Now stop that and come over here.”

 

She mumbled another apology, chewing on her lip, which is a bad habit of hers that also happens to make his cock hard in about ten seconds. He grabbed one of Asha’s poor pillows.

 

Brienne sat back down on the bed and stretched her legs out again. After a moment of glancing sideways at him, she said, “Why are you staring at me like that? You’ve seen my legs before a million times.”

 

Jaime turned to her. The soft, dim light of the lamp was behind her and he almost wanted to stop and turn around so he could see her eyes properly. He could swear they changed colors.

 

“Brienne...before everything happened over the summer...there was something I wanted to tell you.”

 

He heard her breathing hitch and knew suddenly that she was probably jumping to all kinds of crazy conclusions, and sure enough, she started to pull back from him, blurting out, “You don’t have to say anything else, I—I--”

 

“ _Brienne_ ,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let me finish, okay?” She nodded. Her lips were trembling. He hoped he could find the right words, because if he didn’t, she would slip away from him as sure as the sun would rise. He paused for a moment, then said, “Do you know I’ve never liked any girl besides my sister?”

 

Brienne rolled her eyes and replied, “Duh, isn’t she the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?”

 

Damn. Of course the stubborn wench wouldn’t make this easy.

 

“I _grew up_ with Cersei. There’s only one girl I’ve ever _chosen_ to...be close to.”

 

Her eyes met his, blinking for a moment before she said, “What, _me?_ ”

 

“Well, who do I spend all my time with? Who do I confide in? Who is always there for me?”

 

“Uh...me,” she said, in a tone that was almost comically quizzical.

 

“ _Yes_ , wench, _you.”_ Jaime pulled her hand closer. He wasn’t so reckless as to kiss it, but he drew it close and held it tight. “The truth is, I don’t give a fuck about Cersei’s new boyfriend,  except that it means everything is different now. _She_ ’s different. She, who is supposed to be my other half, born together, die together, etc. And I ask myself, who is really my other half? If I managed to get myself killed, what poor fool would probably be by my side? It’s you.”

 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she said faintly.

 

He slowly reached up and brushed a finger against her the corner of her mouth, feeling her quick breaths. “Do actions speak louder than words?” he asked, leaning towards her. As soon as their lips touched, Brienne jumped up off the bed, holding a hand to her mouth.

 

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, dropping her hand to her side. “This isn’t funny,” she said shakily.

 

Jaime stood and moved closer to her. He slowly settled his hand at her waist. Her own hand went to his shoulder, but she didn’t push him away. “I’m as serious as the grave, wench.” He kissed her unyielding mouth. Her lips were chapped and they tasted like honey. He lingered there until they softened against his, and soft they were. When he pulled back, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. Jaime wondered if the fright there was reflected in his own.

 

“If this is a joke--”

 

“It’s not,” Jaime said, curling his fingers at her waist.

 

“If someone is about to jump out of the closet--”

 

“ _Brienne_ .” He reached up and took the hand that was squeezing his shoulder. “I would _never_ do that to you.” He took a chance and dared to move his other hand to her waist. He could feel the subtle place where her hips curved. “You know that.”

 

She bit her lip and looked down. “I do,” she whispered. “But I…….”

 

Jaime waited what seemed an eternity, feeling her breathing under his touch, staring at the pattern of freckles that spread across her cheeks, which he had never seen so close before. Finally, he reached out and tilted her face up to his.

 

“What is it?”

 

“You can’t…..” She looked away and shook her head, wringing her hands between them. She hadn’t stepped back from him yet. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, wench. Especially when you’re wrong.”

 

Something in his rough voice must have convinced her, as she tentatively brought her arms up and put her hands on his chest. She even moved a little closer.

 

“Now,” Jaime said, sliding one hand up her back. “Are you going to let me kiss you or are you going to make me argue with you all night?” His fingers brushed the back of her neck and he felt her shiver against him.

 

Brienne looked away for a moment and when she looked back at him, her face was determined, like she was accepting a challenge. He would have laughed if it wouldn’t have been so ill-received. “Alright,” she said. It sounded stiff, but breathless, and Jaime didn’t wait a moment in case she changed her mind, finally properly kissing the lips he had been fantasizing about for so long. She made a small noise and they opened underneath his. They both let out harsh breaths when he tasted the sweet warmth of her mouth.

 

Jaime ran his hands up and down her waist before reaching up to slide his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck. She gifted him with another shiver, and she pressed herself against him in its wake. She kissed him back fiercely and without finesse, but that was just fine with Jaime—finesse could be learned.

 

They finally broke apart and Brienne tilted her head back. A deep flush had spread down her long neck and across her chest and disappeared into the perfectly respectable neckline of her polo shirt. She mumbled a question under her breath, so low that Jaime would have missed it had he not leaned in to kiss her neck.

 

“It’s real,” he said into her ear, pulling her closer. She let out a trembling moan when he pressed against her, feeling the heat and pressure of him against her thigh. He felt her whole body shudder against him before she dove in for another kiss. She was a quick study at this, and quickly discovered that he liked it when she bit his lip, and liked biting hers even more. It made her gasp against his mouth and clutch his shirt for dear life.

 

He reached down to haul her leg up against him and then there was a creak and the sound of voices outside. There was just enough time for Brienne to pull away and hastily sit on the bed, frantically pushing her hair back and pressing her palms to her cheeks, which were absolutely flaming. Jaime sat next to her and had the presence of mind to grab a cushion for his lap.

 

Sansa Stark was usually a very prim girl--one could fairly accuse her fairly of being a priss, at times. Now was not one of those times, as Sansa also could not hold her drink, which was why she came crashing into the room without knocking, although there was something of a _thump_ on the door, so maybe it had been a full-body knock. Her hair was messy and her lips a little reddened. Jon Snow was behind her, looking less gloomy than usual. Wait, weren’t they cousins? Huh.

 

“BB, we _must_ get tacos,” Sansa sang happily, before she abruptly went silent at the sight of Jaime and Brienne sitting on the bed, close enough that their knees were touching.

 

Sansa narrowed her eyes and said, “Jaime Lannister, you---you--”   

 

Jon quietly suggested ‘jerk’.        

 

“Jerk!”

 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Jaime sighed. “But why?”

 

“Why? _Why?!_ Do you know how upset--”

 

Brienne started to groan but Sansa talked over her with the volume of the drunk and righteous.

 

“ _Do you know how upset_ and worried and upset and sad Brienne was when you ghosted and turned up at--”

 

“You said ‘upset’ twice,” Jaime commented mildly.

 

Brienne jumped off the bed and grabbed Sansa’s arm, mumbling in her ear, no doubt begging her to shut the hell up.

 

“How could you not call like that?” Sansa demanded, ducking away from where Brienne was now attempting to slap a hand over the other girl’s mouth.

 

“You’re supposed to be her best friend, Jaime! After me! And then after Margery!” She turned to Brienne and muttered, “I’m first, right?”

 

“Sansa, right now, you’re my worst enemy,” Brienne ground out.

 

“Well,” Sansa says with a long-suffering sigh, “Jon can drive me home if you want to stay and--”

 

“No, no, I can drive you!” Brienne said quickly, glancing over her shoulder at Jaime, pressing her lips together. They were redder and plumper than Sansa’s. Although they were always plump, and apparently they have been this soft the whole time, and now she was trying to run off and take her lips with her.

 

“BB,” Sansa pouted. “Maybe you _should_ \--”

 

“Well,” Brienne said loudly. “I drove my dad’s car so I have to drive it home. Sansa, if you have a ride, I’m gonna go.” She was already in the hallway by the time she finished. “See you guys later,” she said. She sounded breathless.

 

Jaime stood in an airless silence for a moment before Sansa let out an indignant squeal and cried, “What are you waiting for, you dumb idiot?!”

 

Jon nodded behind her. “You should go after her.”

 

For a moment, stung by a feeling of rejection, he wanted to tell them both to shut up, or ask them what they hell they knew about the fear of losing a best friend.

 

“We parked at Elm and Chesterfield.” Sansa said, hopping up and down in place. ”Run!”

 

He ran.

 

He caught up with her in enough time that he had a whole block before they reached her dad’s truck. That gave him maybe sity whole seconds to convince her--of what, he wasn’t sure. She was determinedly not looking at him, her shoulders creeping towards her ears when he called her name.

 

“You know I can keep up with you, wench,” he said, after they had gone a few long strides in a silence that was only broken by the tinkle of her keys in her shaking hand. She clutched them to her chest and said his name, not in the sexy tone he liked, in the firm but watery tone she used when she didn’t want to say what she was saying.

 

“Brienne,” he said quickly, grabbing her arm. She didn’t shake him off right away, so he stepped closer, forcing her to turn to him on the narrow sidewalk. “Brienne. I’m not gonna let you run away from me.”

 

“Jaime,” she sighed. That was more like it. He slid his hand down and caught her fingers, linking them together. He leaned in, hoping to kiss her again, but she ducked away and said his name again, her voice choked. She was pale instead of flushed--that was how he knew she was scared. He held her hand more tightly as she looked at the ground between them. She shook her head and said, “Jaime, you can’t--”

 

“I told you before, Brienne,” he said quietly. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.”

 

She made a frustrated noise, holding her fingers to her lips for a moment, as if remembering their kisses--or trying to brush them aside.

 

“But--I--I mean--a boy like you--”

 

He held a hand up. “There are no boys like me, wench. Just me.”

 

“Oh, brother,” she mumbled under her breath.

 

“And I _can_ and _will_ want you, whether you believe me yet or not.”

 

She started to turn pink instead of the ghastly white of a moment ago. He was winning her over. She had still not reclaimed her hand.

 

“ _Yet_?” she said. She bit her lip and the look she gave him would have been coy on most other girls, but from Brienne, it just looked anxious.

 

“I’m extremely persuasive.”

 

She rolled her eyes, a sure sign that he was back in her good graces.

 

“You’re extremely full of yourself, is what you are,” she tried to grumble but she was still smiling.

 

They arrived at the truck. Brienne dropped the keys three times before Jaime laughed and took them from her, opening the door with a bow.

 

At the last moment before she drove away, she turned to him and blurted out, “You wouldn’t joke about this, would you, Jaime?”

 

He reached in the window and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, the backs of his fingers brushing over her cheek.

 

“Never, ever. Call you tomorrow?”

 

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

 

He really needed to thank Sansa Stark.

**Author's Note:**

> My headcannon is that Galladon taught Brienne to shoot BB guns and she loved it and that's how she got the nickname BB.


End file.
